Family Ties
by The London Write
Summary: Sherlock and John get an interesting client. She is not who they think she is. She has important information that could help save hundreds of innocent people from one of Moriarty's upcoming plans.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock and John sat in the flat trying to work out a particularly bothersome case. To John, none of the pieces fit quite right together. A man left London for a trip to New York in America. He was found in Australia. The bothersome part was he was dead. John was reading aloud the case file to Sherlock who paced around the room.

"Found dead in Australia Monday evening. Left London Friday morning. Estimated time of death, around noon on Sunday. Body was found wrapped in a garbage sack. Severe head trauma, likely cause of death." That was the answer somehow for Sherlock.

"Drugs. Half the time it is always drugs. Or a gang. One of those two." Sherlock's eyes widened in delight. "Or perhaps both of them together. A gang dealing drugs! What a wonderful combination." John shook his head, and put the file on the table.

"Something's just not right with you." John said smiling. Sherlock turned and faced him, his hand at his chest.

"Well of course. I'm Sherlock Holmes." There was a knock on their door and they both turned to look. Mrs. Hudson poked her head in.

"Excuse me boys, I'm sorry to interrupt. But there is a young lady out here who needs to speak to you. I would say it's very urgent. This girl looks like she could use your help." Sherlock rolled his eyes. She said that about every person that walked in. Everyone in her eyes who came here needed help.

"Show her in then." John said. Mrs. Hudson left and said a few words to the girl. The door then opened completely and revealed an indeed, very young lady. She walked in and Sherlock's head started to spin in a frenzy of deciphering her.

Young, yes. No older than 17. She was beaten, bruised, cuts, a few small scars. Bulling? Highly unlikely, he thought. She was too attractive to be bullied. Were they self-inflicted? The scars on her wrist indicated those wounds in particular were self-inflicted. So the rest were someone else. So she was having a hard life. But a hard life with whom? Boyfriend maybe? No, couldn't be. She had no jewelry on. Jewelry was an indication of a boyfriend. So it was the parents. Child abuse. Sherlock's heart softened slightly at the thought at this young girl being harmed by her parents. The idea also made him sick. He exchanged a short look with John. Seeing John was worried also, Sherlock quickly offered up the couch to the young girl.

"Please, have a seat." Sherlock offered, indicating the couch. She walked over, not saying a word and sat, wincing slightly as she did. He was concerned she would tell them her parents abused her and wanted it to stop. But that was not their job to do that. Child services would have to help her. They were quite useless in this situation. "I'm afraid we can't help you much in a situation like this. This is a job for child services. You have to be taken away from your parents so they stop doing this to you." John looked at Sherlock slightly angry he had said that to her. "We really can't help her John. Am I right it's your parents?" The girl was not alarmed. She had expected this. But she had much more she needed to tell them.

"Yes." She said simply. John and Sherlock shared another glance.

"We can't do much in a situation like this." John said sympathetically.

"That's not it though." She quickly said. They each looked at her intently. "My name is Jane Moriarty."


	2. Chapter 2

John sat in his chair not believing what he was hearing, but Sherlock looked Jane over again and searched for any signs of lying.

She wasn't.

Sherlock was unsure on what he should do. For the moment he just stared at her bruised face thinking. Why had she come here? Was this all a trick? At that thought he immediately sprang up out of his seat and grabbed her by the collar of her shirt.

"What are you doing here?!" He screamed in her face. Jane recoiled in fear and instinct made her protect her face in her terror of a strike. "Is this all a trick? Are your helping your father, is that's what's going on?!" John leaned forward in his chair so as to stop him, but Sherlock heard him turned around and pushed him violently back down, then returned his angry gaze at Jane. She was scared; she still protected her face with her hands. "What do you want?" Sherlock stated, spit flying from his mouth.

Slowly she moved her hands away from her face to look at them both. Tears started to form in her eyes, but she never cried. She had been trained never to cry or complain.

"Please, what I am about to say is true, you must listen." Jane said softly, looking at Sherlock with her glazed eyes.

"Why should we listen, your father has killed people. How do we know you haven't helped him?" Sherlock said, discussed. Jane was about to respond, but John had taken the side of the girl.

"Sherlock, just sit down and let's listen." John said irritably and grabbing onto Sherlock's sleeve to pull him down into a chair. Sherlock reluctantly sat. John continued the speaking from then on for a while. "What is it? And do keep in mind that I do have a gun, and if you try anything, I will shoot you." He said seriously.

"You may not be the one that shoots me." Jane stated. Sherlock placed his fingertips together and rested his hands on his chest underneath his chin. He would try to keep quiet, but only because John wanted it. And luck he did, because the words that came out of Jane's mouth next flew out so fast that Sherlock only barley understood.

"My father is Jim Moriarty; I have decided he has gone too far. I have never helped him in any of his murders ever, and I believe I should end them before he continues. He has something planed, something bigger than anything he has ever done before, a mass murder. Hundreds of people are going to die if you don't stop him." At this point Sherlock and John were being reeled in like fish on a hook. John was on the edge of his seat listening intently. Sherlock showed less signs of interest, but he was indeed, sinking in all this information. Whether it was real of fake though, he didn't know.

"I've come to tell you everything, I'm sick of being abused and forced to be silent and locked away. He needs to be stopped. He can't continue with what he has planned, the set date of the mass murder is-" there was a smashing of glass and a zipping sound.

John knew that sound all too well. Bullets. He threw himself on to the floor and covered his head and neck with his hands. Bullets showered through the windows and were going in all directions. He hoped Sherlock had dived for the ground as well and was not hurt because he didn't dare look up to see.

Sherlock had indeed dived down to the floor. He covered his face with his arms and tried to look out the window as best as he could. All he could see was glass and wood flying. In worry of something hitting his eyes, he covered them back up. The bullets continued for several seconds after they had taken cover. When they finally stopped, they waited for the dust to clear up. John chanced a glance over at Sherlock. Sherlock had done the same and they looked at each other. Each seeing that the other was okay, they looked over at Jane. Jane had been sitting in the direct line of fire. She lay there on the ground motionless, her blood starting to cover the floor.

John started to crawl over to her. Sherlock reached out and grabbed at his leg. He kicked him away. He was a doctor after all, and she needed his help, even if Sherlock didn't want him to. Sherlock copied John and crawled to Jane. The first thing John did was check for a pulse. She had one, but it was faint.

"John." Sherlock croaked, from the dust.

"I don't care what you have to say about her Sherlock. I'm a doctor, and by bloody hell I'm going to help her."

"No, listen to me, she is indeed Moriartys daughter. They were trying to kill her, not us. She was really going to betray her father. She is the only one that possesses the information that can stop the mass murder. Save her." Sherlock said, he then jumped up and ran to the door. "Mrs. Hudson!" He yelled, waving away smoke and dust.

"What was that? Was that gun shots?" Mrs. Hudson asked worried, her voice quivering.

"Everything is fine, bring up cloth, bandages, alcohol, everything!"

"Sherlock! She needs a hospital! Not home care, she's been shot God knows how many times!" John said very worried. He took a blanket from the couch and tore it into small individual pieces which he placed over her wounds. Sherlock rushed over to the kitchen and shouted to John to explain.

"She can't leave the flat. They will be waiting out there for her. We need to care for her, and always watch her." Sherlock was grabbing vials out of the cupboards and looking at the labels. Some he tossed aside, while others he took with him. John was putting pressure on as many wounds as he could. She was indeed shot up very bad. From what he could tell, she had been shot four times. One in her right and left shoulder, her stomach, and left thigh. He had the pressure on her stomach and thigh. Those were the places where he thought she may bleed the most. She began to move.

"Don't move, stop, you'll just hurt yourself further." John said, trying to be calm. Jane coughed, and blood trickled out of her mouth and down the corner of her lip. Sherlock came out from the kitchen with all the vials in his arms and joined John.

"Mrs. Hudson! We need those bandages now!" Sherlock shouted at the top of his lungs. John watched as Sherlock opened up vile after vile, gently lifted her head up, and tipped the liquids into her mouth.

"What is that?" John asked, curious and slightly concerned. "What are you giving her?"

"Just relax; it's to help her with the pain, and this one." He held a vile up in front of himself. "This is a sedative." He tipped the last vile in her mouth and held her head so she could swallow. She tried to speak to them. She spoke in short, fast gasps. They could tell she was in a significant amount of pain.

"It – it's going to happen o – on September twenty -" She began to cough violently, and more blood spilled out of her mouth.

"That's not a good sign Sherlock," John said, handing him two other pieces of blanket. "Hold these on her shoulders, and put pressure, don't be afraid of hurting her." Sherlock put pressure on her shoulders. Perhaps even a little too much, Jane whimpered in pain. "The blood coming from her mouth means the bullet has severed something in her stomach. She needs surgery Sherlock." They shared worried stares. Mrs. Hudson came in with the items Sherlock had requested. When she saw Jane on the ground she gave a shocked gasp.

"Oh my word!" She said, looking around the ruined room, then at everyone on the floor. "I'll phone for an ambulance!" Mrs. Hudson made her way to run out of the room to find a phone, but Sherlock shouted for her.

"No! We don't need one, bring us the bandages please!" Sherlock shouted angrily.

"She's going to die if she doesn't get the surgery Sherlock." John and Sherlock looked at each other, sweat glistening on each of their brows.

"You need to do it John. You have to do it here."


	3. Chapter 3

"You must be mad Sherlock! I can't perform surgery now! I don't have all the tools, nothing is sterile! " John exasperated.

"I have everything. Come to the kitchen, you need to do it! Now!" Sherlock sprang up and rushed to the kitchen and grabbed the bandages away from Mrs. Hudson on the way. "You will want to leave for this part." He told her calmly. With a worried look on her face, she jolted out of the room. John carefully picked Jane up and walked slowly to the kitchen. To his surprise, Sherlock had cleared the counter top, and was prepping an I.V. John lay Jane down on the counter top and Sherlock immediately put the I.V. in and started the fluids. John realized finally that Sherlock was indeed being completely serious.

"I need gloves, and tools Sherlock. I need things." John said going to wash his hands in the sink. He watched over his Shoulder as Sherlock opened up a drawer, and pulled out everything John needed. Jane moved.

"Jane, listen to me. You're going to be in a lot of pain in a moment, but it's nothing you won't be used to." Sherlock reached in a drawer and pulled out another vile. "This will help." He poured it into her mouth and tossed the vile aside. He held on to both sides of her head with his hands and looked into her eyes. She looked up in his, and for the first time in years, she cried. Tears watered down her face leaving streak marks as it washed away the dirt. Jane tried to speak, but Sherlock silenced her. "Shh, you will be alright. John. She's losing conciseness. Do it now, start it now!" John had just barley put on the gloves and was grabbing the first instrument.

John recalled all his training; all his past medical years had led up to this. If he messed this up, Jane would die. And the information to stop the mass murder would die with her. If he could save her, he would save hundreds of people as well.

With John being under a whole new un-experienced pressure, he opened up her stomach to locate the bullet. Jane gave a muffled yell of pain. Sherlock held her head close to his chest, doing his best to comfort her. After another moment of Jane struggling, she lost complete conciseness, and went limp. Sherlock gently rested her head on the counter and went to help John.

"Anything I can do?" Sherlock asked. John grunted as he held back a part of her skin to get a better look inside.

"Clean up the blood." John answered back fast. Sherlock reached for a pair of gloves for himself and quickly put them on. He then grabbed cloth after cloth and wiped up the blood that was slowly seeping from Jane's body. Sherlock was not fazed by this. In fact, as weird and inappropriate as it was, he was enjoying it. It was thrilling to see John at work. He had a faint smile on his face. John was so engrossed in his work that he didn't notice.

"I need you to hold this back Sherlock." John said, indicating the flesh surrounding the open wound. Without hesitation, Sherlock did as he was told, and held it back while John carefully reached in. Sherlock looked at John. John had a look of _the _most concentration. He had to find the bullet without damaging anything else.

Moments later, John pulled out the bullet and let it drop to the floor. She now needed to be stitched up. John reached over and grabbed the needle and stitching thread Sherlock had set out. John carefully threaded the needle, his hands slipping a few times.

"Alright Sherlock, you can let go now." Sherlock pulled his hands away and went back up to Jane's head. From there, Sherlock watched John as he gently, and with precise precision, sewed up the wound. It seemed like it look an immense amount of time, but John finished within an hour.

"What about the others?" Sherlock asked, wondering about the three other bullets that still were imbedded in her body. John started wiping away the blood from her skin and the countertop, Sherlock helped.

"Those shots aren't life threatening. I can take them out later if I must, but before I do that, she needs to heal from this first." John took of his gloves and brushed sweat away from his brow. "She could die from excruciating pain, or blood loss. I don't want to risk that. Right now we need to wrap the shots up tight to stop the bleeding." John handed Sherlock some of the bandages Mrs. Hudson had brought them. Sherlock wrapped up both Jane's shoulders while John did her stomach and thigh.

"You said she couldn't leave the flat?" John asked, not looking away from his work.

"I have no doubt that Moriarty will have given orders to his men to retrieve her dead body. As long as she stays in here, she should be safe."

"Yeah, and where is she going to stay Sherlock?"

"She can have my bed. I'll stay on the couch. My bedroom doesn't have a window. I don't want someone climbing in to kill her." Sherlock tied off the bandages and held Jane's head and checked her pulse. John watched him. Sherlock looked ill. His face turned completely pail, and he looked as if he was about to throw up. Jane had no pulse.


End file.
